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Weather in London by Mikael Covey

Got home today, gone a week. Lovely day, or terrible, depending on your viewpoint – sunny, hot, muggy. I’ll go with terrible. Nothing much to come back to, but good to be home, I suppose. The cat’s happy to see me, that’s something anyway. Apparently she’s in heat, so I guess she’d be delighted to see anybody or anything. Shouldn’t disclose such personal items about kitty, respect her privacy and all. Then again, it might have some bearing later on in the story (writer tricks, horseshit they teach you in creative writing). Yeah, you know what I mean – use those tricks and there’re so painfully obvious, it’s painful.

The house is a wreck. Shoulda cleaned it before I left, but so much to do to get ready, no time really to clean the place so it’d look nice and inviting when you return. Too bad – the little cracker box hotel room looking more inviting than your own home. Such is life. At least it was neat and clean there. And it was London, not South Dakota. I’ve nothing against South Dakota, rather be here than someplace else. But it’s nice to get away. Odd to spend a whole week without once thinking of work. So that’s sort of a vacation in itself.

And London is nice. A different perspective on things – so many people you see from all over the world. Hate to break the news to New Yorkers and Los Angelenos, but London is actually the epicenter of this little blue planet. And all those people, see them for a fleeting moment on the subway, then never again in your whole lifetime. Understanding that, to a writer, each of them is a book unto themselves. Some perhaps a slim volume, others a great large book. You can see it in their faces. A glimse at a time, then vanished forever. Which is all any of us are. Continue reading